Red
by littlemisshamish
Summary: This isn't even a proper fic / God help me / John is not gay / But he still wants the D (In which the boys try bad poetry.)


"John!"

Sherlock went inside the flat, looking for his friend.

"John!" he repeated, "Lestrade phoned me. There is a new-"

His attention was caught by the note on the fridge.

_Roses are red_

_Lilies are white_

_There's another severed head on the fridge_

_Get that bloody thing out of my sight!_

Sherlock couldn't help but smile. He took a pad of sticky notes and wrote a note of his own.

_Really, John? A poem?_

He went out again.

* * *

_You're no fun, Sherlock._

* * *

_Very well then._

_Roses are not always red_

_Flowers are irrelevant_

_The head stays in the fridge_

_It's for an experiment_

* * *

_It's a nice try Sherlock_

_But it's like rhyming lemon and lime_

_Your poem wouldn't have sucked_

_If you had used words that rhyme_

* * *

_I honestly don't give a hoot_

_When someone uses citrus fruit_

* * *

_Your poems suck_

_And you're a sore loser_

_I'll give you my life savings_

_If you stop trotting around in your underwear_

* * *

_You surely like to point out the irrelevant_

_It's starting to hurt my face_

_Go get dressed now John_

_Lestrade gave me another case_

* * *

_You can definitely solve it alone_

_Or for me you can just wait_

_I can't go with you tonight_

_I've got a date_

* * *

"A date?" Sherlock called out from the kitchen.

"Yes. With Sarah. We're together again, remember?"

Sherlock frowned. He must have deleted it.

* * *

_Violets are blue_

_And so am I_

_You chose Sarah over me_

_And I don't know why_

* * *

_I did not choose Sarah over you_

_I can't believe you're jealous_

_If I wasn't so touched_

_I would find this hilarious_

* * *

_You find my pain hilarious_

_So I'll just do this alone_

_I was born alone, I'd die alone_

_Alone, alone, alone_

* * *

_Don't guilt-trip me, you git._

* * *

_I'm not making you feel guilty_

_I'll just be on my way_

_If I die tonight_

_Don't throw my experiments away_

* * *

_You bastard, don't you dare die on me_

_It doesn't matter where or when_

_If you get yourself killed_

_I will hunt you down and kill you again_

* * *

_You're being illogical again_

_But it doesn't matter_

_Come along, John!_

_You'll get your sex later_

* * *

_I damn well hope the sex you're talking about won't come from you._

* * *

_It doesn't matter._

* * *

"That. Was. Crazy."

Sherlock and John were doubling up in laughter when they went up the stairs back to their flat. They were trying to catch a serial killer in the act and to do so, they had to dress in women's clothes. After they had handcuffed the suspect, Lestrade found them making sexy poses to make each other laugh. The poor detective inspector almost looked like he was about to vomit.

"I'm going to shower first," Sherlock said.

After he showered, he found another note on the fridge.

_Roses are red_

_The head's still in the fridge_

_If you don't throw this out_

_I will throw you off a bridge_

* * *

_Aren't you tired of poems and leaving notes on the fridge when in fact we're in the same room?_

* * *

_I will never get tired of poetry_

_Just humor me, mate_

_What can I do, I'm an old romantic_

_Haters gonna hate_

* * *

_You did not just use that phrase._

* * *

_Haters gonna hate?_

* * *

_Yes._

* * *

_Haters gonna hate._

_Waiters gonna wait._

_Maters gonna mate._

_Tomatoes gonna tomate._

_Potatoes gonna potate._

* * *

_Those are not even __words._

* * *

_Roses are red_

_The Winchesters wear plaid_

_Sherlock Holmes is a grumpy old man_

_No wonder you don't get laid_

* * *

_First, haven't I told you about the roses? Second, guns don't wear plaid. In fact, they don't wear anything at all. Third, I am not grumpy, you are just annoying. Lastly, how can you be sure that I don't get laid?_

* * *

_Guns? I wasn't talking ab__ Never mind. Oh, so you have gotten laid._

* * *

_Not really._

* * *

_Ha. :)_

* * *

_What's the smile for?_

* * *

_It wasn't a smile. It was a mocking face. I'm mocking you._

* * *

_I'm so sorry, Sherlock. Please give me back my gun._

* * *

_You know, John, unlike you, I spend all of my time and energy doing things that actually matter._

* * *

_Sex matters. It's a way of showing people you love them._

* * *

_I love Mrs. Hudson. You don't see me having sex with her._

* * *

_Bad mental image. Anyway, you know that's not what I meant._

* * *

_I'm running out of sticky notes._

* * *

"Sherlock," John said for about the fifth time. "Sherlock, we need to talk."

The detective just continued ignoring him and staring up at the ceiling, thinking, John supposed.

"It's about Sarah," John continued anyway, "She asked me to move in with her."

At that, Sherlock stirred.

"And what did you say?"

"I said I'd think about it. What do you think?"

"I think the killer is the one with the limp."

"What? No, what do you think about this? About me moving in with Sarah?"

"You told her _you'd_ think about it. Why are you asking _me_ what I think?"

"I just want to know what you feel about it, that's all."

There was a long silence.

"I don't _feel_," Sherlock said after a while.

John just nodded. "All right, then." And he went to his room.

* * *

When John came out of his room 20 minutes later, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. There was another note, however, on the fridge.

_Roses may not always be red_

_I don't really care about any flower_

_What I do care about is that you do not leave_

_Don't go, John; stay with me forever_

* * *

_Idiot. You still suck at poetry._

_Dinner tonight? :)_


End file.
